Controversy (19 page)

J
uanita and her Neighborhood Watch gang were local celebrities. Discovering Michael Adams's second victim, Vanessa Delaney, in Phil Matthews's home, news agencies seemed to get a kick out of the older ladies' crime-fighting abilities. Now that Michael's trial was under way, they were once again thrown into the limelight for their opinion on the proceedings.

“I knew the girl was trouble the first time I laid eyes on her,” Juanita said, sitting on her sofa in her living room. “Mrs. Matthews—that was her name back then—always had trouble conforming to the rules and regulations of our fine Home Owner's Association. I just think that it's a pity that her ex-husband didn't see the kind of woman she truly was—and that poor, poor woman she killed out of blind jealousy when she realized Phil had moved on. I read somewhere that he and Ms. Delaney used to work together at his old job—Initech—or something like that. My friend Estelle said they build top-secret stuff for the government, weapons or something like that for the military. Anyway, Phil had a brilliant mind. Such a loss,” she said sadly into the cameras.

“Why, it seems like yesterday he was just fooling around in the backyard. He was a master gardener, you know. We shared many secrets. He would even run errands for me, even though he was a
very
busy man. He'd work long hours. Of course, now I know he was likely working those long hours so he could stay away from that crazy wife of his.”

“So you definitely believe that Ms. Adams had a hand in his murder?” the reporter asked.

“They wouldn't have arrested her if she wasn't guilty,” Juanita said flatly. “I just regret our little Neighborhood Watch couldn't have done more to prevent those senseless crimes.” She shook her head. “You know, I was the one who saw those evil twins taking off in their getaway car that night.” She sighed. “The last time I saw Phil…”

“The last time what?” the reporter nudged.

“Well, the last time I saw him, he gave me a package he wanted me to hold for him. Said it was a gift or something like that. Hmmph. I'd forgotten about that. I just stored it in the basement and plum forgot about it. I probably need to contact his next of kin or something.”

 

The man punched the off button on the television and turned toward his partner. “Did you just hear that?”

“I heard and I can't believe it.”

“Do you think…?”

“It has to be. We've searched everywhere else.”

“You think our old employer will still be interested in our retrieving it?”

“It'll definitely make up how we botched the job,” the woman said.

A smile slithered across the killer's lips. “I'll be damned. It looks like we're back in business.”

 

After a long day in court, Kyson arrived home emotionally and mentally exhausted. Now that he'd quit the force, he'd taken a job with his brother at K. D. Dekker Investigative Services.

The job wasn't as bad as Khail had led him to believe. The pay fluctuated, but it was enough to help him complete the last few classes to get his engineering degree.

It broke Khail's heart when Kyson announced he was retiring from fighting, too. After all, it was Khail's dream, not his. He still frequented King's Gym, mainly to relieve much of the stress of the trial. Watching the proceedings was much harder than he dreamed it would be. Seeing Michael on the stand and sticking to her story about not killing her ex-husband and his girlfriend.

She and the Damon twins admitted to the kidnapping fiasco, and the Adams sisters had all stuck to their guns about Phil escaping the trunk of Michael's car alive. Then again, the guilty often stuck to a lie until they were about to receive the needle.

Kyson's heart lurched. Michael could receive the death penalty.

Thinking of the possibilities was more than he could stand most days. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed two beers and proceeded to drink them one after the other. It was hard being in the apartment sometimes. Remembering the night that he brought her to his place haunted him.

He'd only been in love twice in his life. One woman was murdered and the second one could be put to death.

Life had a funny way of sucker punching him.

Kyson stopped and thought about the word
love
drifting around in his head. Had he really fallen in love with Michael Adams? Who fell in love that fast?

Cared—yes.

Love?

He shook the word out of his head and commanded himself not to think about it anymore. Yet, he knew it was an order he couldn't carry out.

There was a rap on the door before Khail breezed inside.

“Man, when are you going to stop busting in here like you're paying rent?”

Khail laughed and made his way to the refrigerator to retrieve his own beer. “Hell, I keep thinking one day
I'm
going to discover a naked woman cuffed to your bed.”

Kyson rolled his eyes. Naomi never missed an opportunity to remind him of that day either.

“Besides,” Khail said, “after today, I thought you needed the company.” He popped open his beer. “How did it go on the witness stand?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“That bad, huh?”

Instead of answering, Kyson nodded.

“Tough break, bro.” Khail took a long pull on his beer. When he came up for air, he pounded a hand against Kyson's back. “I hope this experience hasn't scared you off from jumping back into the dating pool. So you fell for a murderer, it's not the end of the world.”

“They haven't proved that she killed anybody.”

“Ah. Still holding out hope, huh?”

Kyson didn't answer.

There was another rap at the door.

“Hey, a party,” Khail said.

Kyson moaned. “Khail, please say that you didn't invite women over here.”

“Now, what kind of brother would I be if I let you sulk over a locked-down jailbird?”

“I'm not interested in any of your silicone bimbos.”

“Hey, bimbos need love, too.”

Khail walked to the front door and pulled it open, only to discover it wasn't the girls he'd invited. “Ah, Detective Griffin. Long time no see.”

Griff chuckled and entered the apartment. “How's it hanging, Khail?”

“Hanging low, bro. It's hanging low.”

Griff walked into the living room and saw Kyson standing by the kitchen counter.

“Hey, buddy!”

“What's up?” Kyson said, joining him in the living room. “What brings you by here? Don't tell me you thought I needed cheering up, too.”

Griff shared a half smile. “Saw you on the stand today, looking like a thrown-away puppy.”

“Naw. Naw.” Khail moaned. “Did he go out like that?” He shook his head. “Damn shame. Can I get you a beer?”

“Khail,” Kyson said, “you're making yourself a little too comfortable.”

“What? You should offer the man a drink. I can't help it if you have bad manners.” Khail disappeared into the kitchen.

Griff flashed a smile. “So, how
are
you doing?”

Kyson shrugged. “Hanging in there.”

“That's good. That's good.”

“How are you and Martinez working out?” Kyson continued with the niceties.

“Good. Good. Of course, she has the hots for me.”

“Dreaming again?”

“It's a nice dream.”

The old partners laughed as Khail rejoined them and handed Griff his beer.

“Care to sit down?” Kyson asked, though he was hardly in the mood for company.

“Don't mind if I do.” Griff took a seat on the sofa.

“Look, Kyson,” Griff said suddenly. “I didn't just come to see if you were all right.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I also wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Shoot.” Kyson drained the last of his beer.

“It's about the Damon twins and their Ford Explorer.”

“What about it?”

“Well, when the Damon twins were arrested, I bought into the story that they and Michael were in on this thing together.”

Kyson shifted in his chair. “Yeah. That's what we all concluded.”

“Michael's testimony about a black SUV chasing her around reminded me of something.”

“Aw. The alleged kidnappers slash killers she talks about.”

“When it came to light the Damon twins owned a black SUV, I figured it was them I saw tailing her the day before her arrest, but the thing is, I'd gotten a tag number, but never got a chance to run it through DMV.”

“So?”

“Well, I came across the tag number again in my notepad and…it doesn't match the Damon twins' Ford Explorer.”

Kyson let his friend's words sink in. “What are you saying?”

“That it wasn't the Damon twins I saw chasing her. It was someone else.”

 

At promptly nine o'clock, Juanita climbed into bed. She'd had a full and productive day and tomorrow she would be called on the stand in the Michael Adams trial. She planned to show no mercy and tell the court that she thought her ex-neighbor absolutely capable of murder.

As she did every night, she reached over to the nightstand, picked up her reading glasses and grabbed her latest and greatest crime novel. Before she could dive into the pages, the walkie-talkie chirped beside her.

“Spring Bird to Momma Bird, come in. Over.”

Juanita picked up the walkie-talkie and responded,
“Momma Bird here, come in. Whatcha got, George? Over.”

“Just checking in to let you know that I'm officially on duty. Over.”

“Very good. You make sure you stay awake tonight. Louise said she caught you sleeping on the job last week. Over.”

“I told her that was an adverse reaction to some new medication my doctor prescribed. I can do my job. Over.”

Juanita rolled her eyes.
“No need to get all huffy, George. I was just saying. Let somebody know if you need for them to take over. Over.”

“No need. I'm definitely on the job. Over.”

“All right. Have a good night. Over.”
She placed the walkie-talkie on the nightstand and returned her attention to her book. Thirty minutes later, her eyes grew heavy and she put the book and her glasses away.

It felt as if she'd just drifted off when she heard the chirp of the walkie-talkie.

“Spring Bird to Momma Bird, are you up, Juanita? Over.”

Groggily, Juanita opened her eyes.

“Spring Bird to Momma Bird, please come in. Over.”

Juanita sat up, annoyed, and reached for the chirping walkie-talkie. This had better be good.
“Momma Bird here. What is it, George?”

“You forgot to say over. Over.”

“Oh, will you just tell me what's wrong? Over.”

“Uh, yeah. I was wondering if you were in your bedroom.”

“What? Please tell me that's not really why you're paging me. Why on earth do you need to know where I am? Over!”

“Well, if I'm not mistaken, your basement light just came on.”

I
nstead of locking herself in her bedroom and waiting for the police like the 911 operator on the phone on the nightstand table told her to do, Juanita grabbed her glasses, climbed out of her bed and went to her closet. She drew her deceased husband's old .44 Magnum firearm. Her husband had bought it because he was such a big fan of the movie
Dirty Harry
.

For the most part, the gun hadn't been out of the box more than a few times. However, Juanita experienced an incredible surge of power holding the weapon. She took her time checking to make sure it was loaded and then took a longer amount of time trying to remember how to turn the safety off.

If she had to aim this sucker at somebody, she wanted to make sure she could fire it. Certain she was ready to take on any danger, Juanita pulled open her bedroom door, peeked out and crept out into the dark house.

Her small footsteps were silent in the thick, plush carpet. It seemed to take forever to make her way from her bedroom, down the stairs, across the foyer, through the living room and over to the basement door.

She couldn't tell whether the fierce racing of her heart was from fear or excitement. This was what it was like to be a real detective. Her hand landed on the door, when a sound from the kitchen caught her attention.

Were they in the basement or were they in the kitchen? She was confused. Leave it to George to get the facts wrong. At no time did it occur to Juanita to return to her bedroom.

Heavy footsteps moved around in the kitchen and then headed toward the door.

Juanita wondered what she should do. She only had a second to think about finding a hiding place before a very large and muscular black man appeared in the dining/kitchen archway.

“What the—”

At the same time, the basement door opened and an Asian woman rushed through, whispering, “I found it. Damn son of a bitch Matthews had it stashed here this whole—”

The woman turned when she saw her partner wasn't looking at her.

Juanita lifted the heavy gun, now thinking that it weighed a ton. “Don't move! The police are on their way.”

“Now, now,” the man said, approaching.

Juanita backed up, but held the gun firmly in her hands. Why in the hell had she thought this a good idea?

“Why don't you put that thing down before you hurt somebody,” the man said.

It was clear he was not afraid of her and Juanita read something in his eyes that warned her if he ever got hold of the gun, she was a dead woman.

“Nobody is going to hurt you. Put the gun down and me and my friend will just leave.”

For the first time Juanita noticed the box in the woman's hand. Phil's box. The one he'd asked for her to keep in her basement. Why would they want that?

Could it be that she had this whole thing wrong?

“You killed Phil,” she accused. “Didn't you?

“That Michael has been telling the truth about you two. You tried to kidnap her and kill her—just like she's been saying in court. You killed that Delaney girl, too. Didn't you?”

Neither of her intruders said a word.

In a space of a minute, Juanita had put it all together. “What is it?” she asked. “What's in that box?”

“It belongs to us,” the woman sniped. “Our bosses paid for it and we're going to make sure that they get it.”

The man, his patience clearly drawing to an end, said, “Give me the gun.”

“Over my dead body.”

The most evil smile Juanita had ever seen on a human being monopolized the man's face. “I was hoping you'd say that.” He lurched toward her.

Juanita started shooting.

 

“Say it again,” Michael asked Billingsley, convinced her ears were playing tricks on her.

“You heard me right,” Billingsley said. “There's no court for you today. The state is dropping the charges.”

Michael stared.

“They captured the real killers,” he added.

“How?”

“Your old neighbor, Juanita Perkins, caught them in her house—put a couple of holes in the big guy, but he'll live.”

“Well, I'll be damned.”

“It turns out that your ex-husband was involved in stealing a prototype for an experimental weapon from Initech. He'd been paid $1.4 million, but then he failed to deliver the package.”

“One point four million? What did he do with the money? I never saw that kind of money.”

“Apparently he had a Swiss account.”

“Bastard! He cheated me on the divorce settlement.”

Billingsley laughed. “I think it's more likely he was trying to hide it from the IRS.”

“But I don't understand. Why would he do that? Steal?” She fell quiet. She knew why, didn't she?

Michael sighed. “When will I get out of here?”

“Soon. They're processing the paperwork now. It'll probably be around two o'clock. Then you're a free woman. Do you think you can hold on until then?”

“I think I'll be dancing a jig until then. Thank you,” she said, tears leaking from her eyes. “Thank you so much.”

“Don't thank me. Thank Juanita Perkins.”

 

It was three o'clock when Michael finally tasted freedom. When she walked out of the jail, the whole Adams clan was there to greet her. All except her father and in a way he was there in spirit.

There were so many tears and hugs that she was overwhelmed by it all. One thing for sure, Michael never wanted to see the inside of a jail ever again.

“C'mon, we need to get you home,” Sheldon said, while Michael's gaggle of nieces and nephews swarmed around her. Even Donna approached with watery eyes and with Teddy on her hip. Having Donna's support through the whole ordeal finally bridged the gap between the two women. Michael finally accepted her in her heart as part of the family.

Flex opened his muscular arms and engulfed her in a hug that made it impossible to breathe. “Welcome home, sis. I've missed you bossing me around.”

Michael smiled and laughed as he released her.

Peyton and Lincoln approached next, their new baby boy, Jackson Trey Carver, nestled in his mother's arms.

“Meet your new nephew,” Peyton said through fat tears.

Michael took Jackson into her arms and cooed softly, “Welcome to the family.”

“You might have another one on the way,” Joey said from behind her.

Michael looked up at a beaming Joey and Ryan. “For real?”

Joey nodded. “I tested positive two days ago.”

“Oh, that's wonderful.” She slowly slid Jackson back into his mother's arms and then grabbed Joey in a fierce hug. “I'm so happy for you.”

Too bad her father wasn't there to see this moment. Her heart grew heavy thinking about all the things she'd lost during this madness: her father, her freedom and even…

Michael lost her breath as her eyes snagged on the man across the street.

Kyson stood next to his car, watching her family mill about, hugging her.

Her heart soared at the sight of him while hope filled her head with possibilities. “Excuse me,” she murmured, cutting through the family throng. “Let me through for a minute,” she pleaded. “I'll be right back,” she promised, and then looked both ways before crossing the street and racing up to Kyson.

When she stopped before him, she could barely see through the fat drops of her tears. “I can't believe you came.”

“I guess I wanted to see you finally walk out of that place.” He glanced down as if he didn't know what else to say.

“I want you to know that I'm truly sorry. I…I…” She allowed a moment of silence and then tried again. “I waited for this moment,” she confessed. “I thought I knew what I wanted to say.” Michael waited for him to look at her. When he didn't, she said, “Now I just wish that you would hold me.”

The look on Kyson's face told her that wasn't possible.

Had she filled herself with false hope? Was it too late to bridge their differences?

“Why can't you look at me?” she asked.

“Look, Mike,” he said. “I just wanted to congratulate you. I'm really happy you got out and all. I mean, it was looking pretty bad there for a moment.”

“You don't have to tell me,” she said in an attempt at humor.

“Well,” he said, his eyes still averted, “I should go.” He turned toward his car.

“Wait.” She placed a hand against the door. “Just like that you're going to go? Why don't you come over to the house? I'm sure my family has a party all planned.”

Kyson finally looked at her. “Look, Michael…” He hesitated. “You know, I also thought I knew what I'd say at this moment…but I don't.”

“Say you'll come to the house—join the party.”

He shook his head. “I'm not going to tell you that.”

“But—”

“Michael, it can never work between the two of us.”

“I didn't say—”

“It's what you're thinking. It's what I've been thinking. I care about you,” he admitted. “A lot. More than a lot…I think I love you.”

“Oh, Kyson…” She moved toward him, but he stepped back.

“Michael, whenever I ask myself whether I can truly build something with a woman I can't trust…the answer's no. I don't…
trust
you. There's no future if there's no trust.”

“What do you mean?” She gasped. “I told you I didn't have anything to do with Phil's death. I told you the truth about the kidnappers.”

“And what about Phil being tied and gagged in the basement or the false statements you made at the station? You didn't tell me that Ray and Scott Damon kidnapped your ex-husband.”

“It's not exactly something you blurt out.” She tried to laugh.

He didn't. “Michael, you can't be honest just when it's convenient. You lied at your house, the station and even while lying in my bed.”

She said nothing. She couldn't.

“I'm happy you're free, but as far as me and you…I just can't.”

The lump in her throat was too large for her to swallow and the tears in her eyes were too thick to see through.

“Goodbye, Michael.” He leaned forward, placed a feathery kiss against her lips. “I'm sorry.” He opened his car door and climbed inside.

She stepped away in disbelief, watched him start the car and then pull into traffic and drive out of her life.